


Putting From The Rough

by flawedamythyst



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:26:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Golfing AU. Mainly focusing on innuendo, rather than actual sport, I've got to be honest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thanks to Trillsabells for her help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Putting From The Rough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jupiter_Ash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jupiter_Ash/gifts).



John thought the worst thing about being a golfer was probably the after-competition parties. Either that or the way women's eyes lit up when they heard you were a professional sportsman, only to dim when they heard what the sport was. It rather lacked the glamorous image that something like tennis had.

John smiled at the pompous official who was droning to him about the precise specifications of the drivers of every winner of The Open for the last thirty years, rolled his shoulder in an effort to relax the muscle strain he'd picked up on the eighth hole, and wondered if anyone would notice if he just went and hid under a table. Probably not – he wasn't really one of the big names, the ones who everyone wanted to flock around. The guy talking to him probably wouldn't even notice if John replaced himself with a waxwork.

He looked around, hoping for some kind of escape, and saw Tiger Woods spot him and begin to make a beeline across the room. Oh, hell no, not today.

“I'm sorry,” he interrupted the official, “I've just remembered I was meant to phone my agent.”

He fled before the official could respond, ducking around groups of people making small talk and hoping his height would mean that Tiger lost track of him. It had to be good for something, right?

When he finally stopped in a distant corner, he could see that he had only been partially successful. Tiger wasn't looking directly at him, but he was close enough that he only had to turn his head a fraction in order to see John.

“Shit,” John muttered, looking around for an escape route. There was a door to his left and he grabbed the doorknob, praying it wouldn't be locked. It turned in his grip and he darted in, closing it behind him and hoping like hell he hadn't been spotted.

Standing in the middle of what turned out to be an unused coat room was Sherlock Holmes, holding his phone in his hand and raising an eyebrow at him in query.

“Ah,” said John. “Sorry.” 

He didn't actually know Holmes that well. They'd both been on the professional golfing circuit for a while, but they were at very different levels. Besides, John was aware of both how attractive the man was and just how badly it would go down if a rumour got about that he had a crush on another golfer. Just a small crush, nothing serious, just, well. The way Holmes's shoulders flexed as he swung his driver, not to mention the things the man could do with a golf ball, Christ. It shouldn’t be legal.

“John Watson,” said Holmes, as if pulling the name up from a database. “You are hiding from someone.”

“Yeah,” said John, surprised at the statement. “How'd you know?”

Holmes waved an impatient hand. “Obvious. You may feel free to share my hiding place until whoever it is has moved on.”

“Uh, thanks,” said John. He glanced back at the door, wondering if he could risk opening it to check or if he should wait a bit longer. “It's Tiger Woods,” he added. “I expect he'll get distracted by someone's wife in a minute or two.”

“Interesting,” said Holmes. “I would have thought you were the wrong gender for him to pursue.”

John made a face. “I've got a sister.”

“Ah,” said Holmes.

That was more than enough to explain but John filled him in on the details anyway. “He met her once, she shot him down, and he's been a bit persistent ever since.”

“She's probably the only woman in the country that he hasn't slept with yet,” said Holmes.

John huffed a laugh. “Yeah, true,” he said. “What are you hiding from, then? I'd have thought you'd be having a great time, celebrating your win.” Holmes had won today, adding the Claret Jug to his already impressive collection of trophies.

Holmes made a face. “This is not my idea of a celebration,” he said. “I hate these things. So insufferably _boring_. My brother blackmailed me into coming, but he said nothing about remaining in sight.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean about boring,” said John. “I was just told the specifications of Tom Watson's favourite driver.”

“Adams Speedline F11 Driver,” said Holmes instantly.

John raised his eyebrows. “How the hell did you know that?”

Holmes shrugged one shoulder. “It's essential to have all the facts at your fingertips,” he said. “For example, I know that you use a Titleist 910 D2 Driver, and that you hold the shaft with an unusually firm grip.”

His voice dropped to a lower register for the last half of the sentence and he gave John a look that was similar to the one Tiger Woods had tried on Harry, right before she'd started laughing. John felt his eyes go wide. Was Sherlock Holmes flirting with him? Seriously? And doing it by using bad golfing innuendo? Maybe the door hadn't led into a coat room, but through the looking glass.

The look on Holmes's face faltered after a moment of lack-of-response from John, and John realised that he was not as confident as his approach would imply. That was enough to break him enough out of his surprise to realise that a hot bloke was flirting with him and he was just staring blankly in response.

He gathered his courage. “I've found that a firm grip makes my strokes smoother,” he said, trying out his own version of the look. He'd had a lot of practice with it – he had to persuade the women who thought golf was dull somehow, after all.

Holmes's face melted into a pleased smile. “Smoother, but not necessarily more accurate,” he said. “I've heard you've ended up in the rough once or twice.”

Right, well, no need to ask what 'the rough' was meant to signify in innuendo terms. He'd never been particularly discreet about his bisexuality and he knew there were rumours around about him. He wasn't the only golfer in that situation, although he'd heard nothing about Holmes. Well, nothing about his sexual exploits, but plenty about his sharp tongue and quick temper, neither of which were in evidence now.

“Once or twice,” John acknowledged. “But I know how to handle myself once I'm there.” Too much? He'd been accused of being rather heavy-handed when it came to flirting in the past. If John had got the wrong end of the stick and Holmes really was just talking about golf, this could get awkward really quickly.

“Ah,” said Holmes, amusement lacing his voice. “Perhaps you could show me how you, ah, 'handle' your wood at such times.”

Right, that was definitely innuendo. No-one would say that if they weren't trying to get into someone's trousers, right? 

“Well, whenever you have a spare moment,” said John. God, if he was reading this wrong, he was going to feel like a right plonker. No, no, it had to be flirtation, there was no other explanation.

“I seem to be free right now,” said Holmes. “Certainly I would prefer to practice my strokes with you rather than stay at this abysmal event.” He tucked his phone away in his pocket, then tipped his head to one side as he looked at John. “And just to be absolutely clear, I am talking about sex.”

“Oh,” said John. He cleared his throat. “Right. Good. Great, in fact. My hotel room?”

Holmes smiled. “That sounds like a hole in one,” he said.

“Not yet,” said John, turning away to peek through the gap in the door to make sure that Tiger Woods was gone before they made a dash for it. “But hopefully soon.”


End file.
